Just entering through the front door, there’s already loud booming voices that attack me as I push my way in. Shouting and yelling all around me, like a warzone in a tiny apartment. All around, I see people throwing objects at each other, as if there is no sympathy or empathy existent here. Three long-haired white dogs all gaze on as the action ensues. Mother against child in a ruthless battle, no longer realizing it’s mother against child, and more like villainous monster versus warrior. All around me are signs that read “Blessed” and “Family Matters Most”, and I wonder why they hang there, as if to show the great irony. The energy inside is dense, almost catastrophically suffocating and it hurts to breathe.

The air falls flat, and the silence brings on a new ominous feel that wraps around me like a heavy duty rope, as I wait for the next outburst to imminently come. The brown couches draped in purple duvets await a person to sit on them, but they are used merely as tables for more hoarded junk. I sit at the table, watching the television show playing loudly and I feel the dark energy start to creep back up and the yelling starts again. It’s impossible to escape, no matter how much I want to. I have too much empathy. Too much to leave behind. I worry that I’ll never get out.